Drip... drip... drip...

Why is my hand wet?

Addison pulled her palm from under her chin and realized she had drooled on herself. With disgust, she quickly wiped her hand on her navy blue pleated skirt. She straightened up in the kitchen chair and once again fixed her gaze on the leaky kitchen faucet. Drip.

He was suppose to fix that.

Suddenly full of unsettling feelings, Addison rose from the table and walked out of the kitchen and into the living room of the Manhattan brownstone apartment she shared with her husband. She froze, scanning over the clean vibrant fabrics, the glass coffee table, the medical magazines, the lamps with their unique fabric shades from Europe, the expensive abstract sculptures, and the picture frames that screamed a happy and collective life.

Tears furiously made their way down Addison's face. She pushed them away just as quickly as she pushed the thoughts that caused them away. She took a step... then another... and collapsed to the floor, hands over her face, overcome with such feelings of sadness and emptiness that she was sure her heart would sink if she didn't relieve the tension in it.

"I'm unhappy!" she cried out through her tears to the empty, dark apartment.

Upon receiving no response, Addison took a deep breath and forced herself to stand. With tears still wet on her face, she began to tear the living room apart. She ripped page after page from the medical magazines. She continued on to the lamps, knocking them from their stands. Each sculpture, each picture frame made its way to the floor, often breaking and shattering the perfect, dusting existence leaving nothing but a shadow of the memory it once was.

When the rage ended, Addison stood breathless in the middle of the room. Hand upon her messy, unkempt hair, she was hit full force with the realization that she had, indeed, went through a mental breakdown that she was sure Derek would not understand, nor appreciate when he arrived home the hospital.

What am I going to do? Oh God... what did I do?

Tears began to fall and Addison let them, feeling this time, they were justified. With shaking hands, she tripped across the room and picked up the telephone receiver. She dialed quickly, pressing the numbers committed to memory. She held a breath until the familiar voice soothed her anxiety.

"Hello, Addison."

"How did you know it was me?" her voice broke.

"Are you crying?" he held genuine concern.

"No." Addison replied as the tears fell quickly.

"I'm coming over."

Click. Hand still shaking, Addison set the receiver back down. She picked the phone back up once more and dialed. One ring. Two rings. Tears dropping onto her white blouse. Three rings. Four rings.

"Hi. You're reached Derek. I'm not able to answer your call now-"

Addison slammed the phone down. She crossed to the couch and perched on it, placing her face back into her hands. Taking deep breaths, Addison attempted to regulate her breathing and stop herself from crying. However, her heart still felt heavy in her chest so the tears would not stop and they continued to slide down her cheeks.

There was a knocking on the door. Addison dropped her hands and walked to the front door. She opened it as she wiped her face. Mark, in sweat pants and forest green tee shirt, stood there. He stepped into the apartment, Addison closing the door behind him.

"Addie, what's wrong?"

Mark's mouth fell open as he stepped into the living room and examined the chaos. He turned to Addison and hurried back to her side.

"What the hell happened?" Mark placed his hands on Addison's arms, "Did somebody hurt you?"

"I did it." Addison answered her tears finally drying up.

Mark dropped his hands, "You did this? Why?"

"I was upset." Addison responded quietly, walking over to a broken piece of a blue sculpture and picking it up. She faced Mark, "What am I going to do, Mark? Derek is going to go berserk when he sees this."

Mark scratched the back of his head, awkwardly, "I'm pretty sure someone already went berserk here, Addison."

Addison groaned loudly and stomped to the couch. She plopped down on it heavily as fresh tears began to flow. She waved her hands toward her face.

"I can't make them stop!" Addison exclaimed, fully frustrated, "Isn't there like a button or something to make them stop?!"

"I don't know. Men don't cry." Mark replied, hastily. Finding his words did not comfort Addison, he sat down on the couch next to her, "Do you want to, like, talk?"

Embarrassed and slightly annoyed, Addison turned her head away from Mark as her tears still fell. Mark leaned forward and spoke softly, his tone causing Addison to look back over at him.

"Addison... what's going on? I've never seen you this upset."

Feeling the closeness between them and before Addison even gave herself time to think of her actions, she leaned into Mark, pressing her lips into his, her tears kissing his cheeks. Mark pulled back slightly, causing Addison to move forward with a deeper and more passionate kiss.

The sound of the front door opening drew Addison and Mark apart like oil and water. Addison stared towards the front door as Derek entered, tired and worn. He glanced up and the smile that was deciding to form dashed from his face. He entered the living room quickly.

"What happened?!" Derek looked around at the mess, his mouth hanging open.

"I... I, um..." Addison struggled trying to make a coherent sentence.

"A bird." Mark chimed in, looking to the floor before looking up at Derek.

"A bird?" Derek's flat tone displayed his disbelief.

Mark looked to Addison, who only stared at Derek. Mark stood up.

"You should have seen the thing. It was huge. Flying all over the place, knocking everything over. It almost took Addie out, scared her half to death."

"A bird?" Derek repeated.

Addison broke her trance and stood up, "Yes."

The anger and disbelief disappeared from Derek's face as concern and fatigue ebbed onto it. He softened as he crossed to Addison.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

"Yeah." Addison managed, "I called Mark and he came here to..."

"Help with the bird." Mark folded his arms across his chest, "Seriously huge bird, man. Bigger than my head."

Derek wrapped his arms around Addison and held close. He kissed the top of her head as Mark looked at the floor, running his hand through his hair. Derek pulled away from Addison and looked to Mark.

"Thanks for being here for this... mess." Derek said.

"No problem, man." Mark replied with a hint of difficulty, "And since everything seems to be in working order... It must be almost midnight."

"Past." Derek responded.

Mark took a few steps towards the front door, "Well... I guess I'll just... go. I'll see you guys at lunch tomorrow."

Addison pulled away from Derek and began to pick up pieces of the broken sculptures.

"Are you bringing Charlize to lunch?" Derek asked.

"Ah, yes. Charlize." Mark glanced at Addison quickly, "So, I'll see you then. Night."

"Night, Mark. Thanks again."

Derek exchanged a smile with his friend and Mark quickly let himself out. Derek bent down next to Addison, who was still hastily gathering the sculpture pieces. He placed a hand on Addison's.

"We can get it tomorrow." Derek offered.

Addison pulled away, shaking her head, "No, I don't want to leave all this here. It's disgusting." She looked up at Derek, "Go to bed. You're exhausted. I'll be up in a little while."

"Addie, come on." Derek stood, taking Addison's hand and attempting to pull her to her feet as well.

Addison yanked her arm down, "Derek, please. Just go."

Derek stared a moment, wondering what had come over his wife to make her so agitated. Addison stared back up at him, holding her own. Derek broke from the trance and stepped back.

"Okay. I'll see you upstairs." Derek left the room and climbed the staircase, Addison watching him go.

Once Derek was out of her sight, Addison dropped the sculpture fragments to the floor. She raised herself to the couch and sat down, placing her hand to her lips, tenderly.

It was nothing. A little voice told her, but believing that voice was another issue.

Slowly, Addison placed her face in her palms and took a deep breath. She decided she would force herself to forget everything that happened that night. Taking one more deep breath, she stood from the couch and began to pick up the wreck she had made.